


own me

by aubadezayn



Series: TUMBLR PROMPTS [8]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, BDSM, Ceremonies, Dark!Destiel, Demon Dean, Demon!Dean, Demons, Dom/sub, Dramatic, Gritty, Hell, M/M, Marriage, Rituals, collaring, dom!Dean, fallen!cas, somewhat lol, somewhat? still loving but pretty dark?, sub!cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-19
Updated: 2015-11-19
Packaged: 2018-05-02 08:25:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5241515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aubadezayn/pseuds/aubadezayn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Collaring:</p>
<p>Besides the common definition, a BDSM symbol of attachment of a submissive to a Dominant through collar made of metal, leather, or other material. Similar to a wedding band in vanilla society. </p>
<p><a href="http://honeybadgercas.tumblr.com">honeybadgercas</a> on tumblr requested this!</p>
            </blockquote>





	own me

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me on tumblr at [gingerbreadthorin](http://gingerbreadthorin.tumblr.com) i don't really post spn anymore but you can always come chat with me about it? or anything? or fic idk

Angels reproduce through grace. Castiel never got the chance, but to his knowledge, it’s some sort of metaphysical, sterile, God-blessed exchange of grace that produces a full-grown suit for the cause. Never did make much sense, it all happened behind closed Heaven doors where none of the angels could see – like it was shameful.

 

Humans reproduce like animals. Rutting and groaning and whining against each other, with semen and sweat all over them – the process is not spiritual, no matter what the congratulations card says about “miracles”. Most pregnancies from humans are accidents, where their desperate need for each other boiled over.

 

But demons…oh, demons are different. Castiel has come to find that demons are another level of everything. When the _fuck_ , they are the king beasts – when they reproduce, they are the most holy. If falling from grace gave him anything, it was the opportunity to see Dean at a state of purity _above_ God, and a state of filth _below_ Satan.

 

* * *

 

 

There is chanting. That is the first thing he hears when he wakes up. It’s dark in the cage and he’s naked, the metal floor and bars pressing against his skin as he shifts. He’s been in here for at max an hour, because he can still feel Dean’s cum sticky and fresh between his thighs.

 

He doesn’t know what the words of the chant are, but they rise up and down in volume. To an angel, they are wavelengths. To a human, the rhythmic dark chanting is terrifying. To a fallen angel, his skin shivers from sensitivity to sound and his blood boils from the power in the chants.

 

He doesn’t know what’s happening, he’s never seen one of these ceremonies before. All Dean had told him was that tonight, Castiel would become “his”. He wants that, so badly he can feel it in the little bit of corrupted grace he has left, so he waits.

 

“Castiel.” A voice commands, eventually, after the semen on his skin has long dried. It’s not Dean, but in the dark Castiel can’t see the speaker. “Are you ready?”

 

“Yes.” He responds firmly, even though he’s not sure what is coming. Whatever it is, bad, good, _terrible_ , he consents to Dean’s will.

 

He’s pulled out of the cage by frigid and scaly hands. Immediately after, just as the barest minimum of light reaches his eyes, a bag is dropped over his head and he’s pushed to the floor. “Crawl.”

 

He does, body languid and close to the floor as he crawls blindly. A boot pushes gently into his side when he must stray off course, the ground dirty and uneven under his hands. He doesn’t know where he is, but the dirt has the sand quality of Dean’s inner sanctuary. Hell is not lava like the humans depict, it’s dirt and rocks that get stuck in your feet and hands. It’s dirt that clings to your skin, darkening the human pallor and setting you apart from the pristine angels of Heaven. Castiel knows that having the ceremony here makes it even more special, that he and Dean have spent many nights in this sanctuary, covered in this precious dirt, in each other’s arms.

 

“Stop.”

 

They are in the heart of the chanting now, Castiel can feel it rushing all around him and through him. He feels high on the crowd’s presence, as his head lolls to rest on the ground. He is presenting, unconsciously, and though he’s forced to stop, the crowd around him does not appear to have. Movement is all around him and hands, passing hands reach down to pet him. Hands stroke over his hole, pat his sides sturdily, pet over his skin like he’s fine fabric to be appraised.

 

He’s been accepted.

 

Just as the crowd is reaching its peak volume, the noise so loud Castiel cannot hear his own breathing, it suddenly cuts off into silence. There is the sound of distant screaming, distant water running, distant, distant, distant. Castiel is riding waves of euphoria, but he could not explain where the feeling is coming from.

 

The silence is suddenly broken by the heavy sound of boots on the gravelly dirt. Each step is precise, lazy…but oh so meaningful, as Castiel has heard them a thousand times before.

 

“Castiel. Do you consent?”

 

“I do.”

 

The humans would call this a marriage.

 

* * *

 

Dean is beautiful in the dim light of candles refracting off ice. Hell runs cold, and the pedestal Castiel is kneeling on is solid ice. His body went numb an hour ago, but down here, he’ll never get frost bite. He’ll never die from hypothermia. Down here, the sensation of Dean’s fingers in his hole is enhanced by the cold shaking of his frame.

 

His husband, his lover, his owner – Dean holds him firmly against his chest, never cutting off eye contact as his fingers fuck deep into him. The crowd is quiet besides the occasional companionable moan, or the sound of skin slapping against skin. Castiel can feel their eyes on him, but his never leave Dean’s black ones.

 

He moans as Dean’s fingers jab insistently into his prostate, his other hand clasped around Castiel’s throat where the collar will soon be.

 

They’ve been doing this for so long, Castiel’s skin is on fire from sensitivity, both to the pleasure and to the ice. He stopped being able to breathe long ago, panting wetly against Dean’s lips and screaming when the pleasure peaks without results.

 

“Dean…please.” He begs, sobbing as four of Dean’s shove up into him.

 

“Shhhh, baby boy. Just a little longer. Give in to me for just a little longer.” Castiel nods, his eyes falling shut for a moment before he forces them open.

 

“Give it to me.” Cas hears Dean order, one hand moving from Castiel’s throat and somewhere to the side. Castiel can hear, due to his heightened senses down here, the sound of leather being passed into Dean’s dry palm.

 

Dean’s fingers ease out of him, an oddly soothing pat on his hole sending chills up his spine. Or maybe it’s the ice. Either way he can hear the sounds of fornication around them, as the demons honor them and their union.

 

“You ready, Cas?” Dean asks, whispering deeply into Castiel’s ear and dropping the ceremonial detachment. Hands stroke all over his body, cherishing every slope and line that they touch like _Dean_ is lucky to be here. Though Castiel knows all too well, he’s the lucky one.

 

Dean places himself against Castiel’s hole, pushing just barely inside, just enough for him to feel it. To make room for him.

 

“Yes.” Cas answers finally, nearly forgetting Dean’s question in his hazed mind. “Please, Dean. Make me yours.”

 

The leather collar rests on his neck and he moans, exalted. He couldn’t explain how it feels, or why just the sensation of leather sends such a rush through his blood. He just knows he wants it, more than anything.

 

Castiel arches his back, reaching towards his God. Towards Dean.

 

The collar locks around his neck at the same moment Dean thrusts forward, and he is owned. In every sense of the word.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! comments appreciated!


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